


Science Fiction/Double Feature

by PseudonymMcWriter



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Deserves Happiness, Cunnilingus, Dry Humping, F/M, Finger Sucking, Light Dom/sub, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28696857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudonymMcWriter/pseuds/PseudonymMcWriter
Summary: Follow-up toAndroid PubertyandChristmas Partybut can be read as standalone.After a night at the movies, Connor's inspired to get back in touch with his dark side.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 120





	1. Science Fiction/Double Feature

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This was written as a continuation of [Android Puberty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703520/chapters/67801961) and [Christmas Party](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27959723/chapters/68477054) but it can be read as a one-shot.
> 
> I have other Connor/Reader fics you can find here: [How To Heal You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29998368), [Touch-Starved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29250543), [Never Thought I'd Be Into This](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092566), [Guess I'm Into This](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761338), [Duet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061894), [Deviant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29738274), [What I Want](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969554), [Symbiosis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803791).
> 
> The plan was to save this until Halloween but damn that's a long way away. For those of you here for the smut, skip to Chapter 2. If you prefer a slow burn and a sprinkling of plot you can start here!
> 
> As always, thank you very much for the comments and the Kudos - this fandom is just *chef's kiss*.

The lights come up in the theatre, making you squint. Beside you, Connor squeezes your hand, his expression bright and expectant. "I enjoyed that. What about you?"

"Surprisingly, better than I remember." You stretch your arms over your head and twist your back, relieving the tension that had set in over the marathon 4 hour movie session. The DPD reserved a small amount of its budget for employees to spend at local arts and entertainment venues, so you'd used part of your allowance for a date at the movies. As you stand, the blood rushing back to your legs, Connor lingers to watch the credits and the accompanying slideshow of schlocky concept art. It was a double feature: the first movie had been about vampires, the second was aliens. Unfortunately, you hadn't been able to find anything with robots. Shame.

"I wasn't sure if you'd enjoy it," You admit later as you step out onto the cold street. "The science-to-fiction ratio is pretty unbalanced."

"I find fiction to be very enjoyable," Connor enthuses. "It teaches me a lot about people."

"I dread to think," Your arms brush against each other as you make your way down the street. "What did you learn from that?"

Connor pauses to think. "I don't think I understand the appeal of the monsters."

"People like a good scare, I suppose." You stop to buy a drink from a street vendor, half-aware of Connor thinking that over in concentrated silence. Coffee in hand, you blow steam from the top of the cup and turn to him. "It's the excitement, people live static lives - there's something, I don't know, biological about it: the adrenaline rush of being put back in the food chain. Lets us experience life on the edge." You smirk up at him. "Not everyone knows the thrill of being a deviant hunter."

"Got it," He begins, even though you can tell he doesn't. "It's like voyeurism-..."

"Oh?" You cast an eye over him as you continue down the street. You like the way he leans towards you as he talks, the way his hands grow more animated the more he enjoys the subject. It just feels... intimate. It feels like there's no one else in the world he'd rather be with than you. It feels like he's truly happy.

"I think I know something about watching from the outside." He smiles down at you, and you take a sip of coffee, conceding. He continues: "But that makes sense in fiction about interspecies conflict; it’s instinctive, like you said. I don't understand the vampires."

You turn off the main street to cut between two closed stores. It was the kind of alleyway you'd never dreamed of braving before meeting Connor. Now, there's a much better chance that the most dangerous thing you could meet on a dark night is already here, walking beside you.

"Well, I can only speak for myself and I'm not an expert on the genre. I think it's the idea of being pursued, and it's conditional but there is something erotic about somebody using you; you know, having that kind of sway and attraction, being hunted down and overpowered and drained by some beautiful, supernatural thing. It’s still biological, I think. People forget they’re animals and something about vampires brings that part back. They look human, they act human, but there's something uncanny and dangerous lurking under the surface. The biting just makes it more carnal." Connor doesn't say anything, and it's too dark for you to see his expression. "That’s if I had to guess, and I think I know something about interspecies attraction."

Your humorous tone dies in the long silence that follows, and the dark, claustrophobic alleyway suddenly seems longer than before. Connor doesn't say or do anything, but it's like you can feel his intent. His eyes on the back of your neck, the barely-there brush of his hand against yours as the narrow space brings you closer together. Your breath is steady but somehow your lungs feel tight. Your skin prickles, expecting contact...

The alleyway suddenly ends, spitting you both back out into the quiet, open street beneath your apartment. You almost feel as if you've stepped out of your own monster movie and back into the real world.

It's funny, despite that moment, nothing else happens that night. You and Connor reach your apartment and the heady silence eventually lapses back into your normal back-and-forth; Connor making dinner as you pour over case notes, and a late night working together. The only moment of note was when Connor reminded you of Fowler's upcoming birthday. He was turning sixty, and although he wasn't known to party, apparently his wife and daughter had organised a gigantic surprise celebration, and more or less the entire police force had been invited to some grand fancy-dress party at their family home.

You almost think you'd imagined it, that brush with danger in the alleyway.

That is, until the night of Fowler's birthday.

\--

The door swings open, and a pair of bright smiles greets you: "Hello! Hello, hello, come in!"

Fowler's house is... Something else. An enormous old place on the wealthier side of town, unburdened by the chaos and noise of the city, and probably five times the square footage of your apartment. A police captain's salary clearly isn’t half bad. As you step through the front door, the women - Fowler's wife, Ruth, and their daughter Naomi - move back to let you through.

"Sorry we're late, we had a fake blood disaster. Where's the birthday boy?" You ask, and the older woman rolls her eyes.

"Late. But he’s on his way."

“I love your costumes,” You tell them. They’re dressed as characters from a movie that came out earlier in the year - that much you can recognise, but apart from that any further details escape you. Your outing with Connor aside, you find it pretty difficult to stay up-to-date with cinema. It's something you're trying to rectify; with the addition of Connor to your life, you've found a reason to re-engage with the world outside of work. He's endlessly curious about things that always seemed banal and inane to you, and maybe you're starting to buy into it, too. It's a big part of the reason why you'd accepted this invitation in the first place, and not found some excuse to skip it like Hank had. Regrettably, you'd never know what costume he might have showed up in.

You and Connor stayed traditional - in other words, cheap - when it came to your costumes. Connor’s initial suggestion for you was to go as an android - he was certain he could find you a uniform and LED, but you decided against it. Somehow it felt like bad form. Instead you’d opted for the slightly less salacious bank robber costume, although you thought with the stripy black and white shirt, black pants and hat, you looked more French than thief. The mask was the only real giveaway. 

Connor had selected a vampire costume, no surprise there. After your evening at the movies it was likely to have been one of the two monsters on show, and you were glad it wasn't the alien. He's in a white shirt with a ruffled collar, black waistcoat, and black trousers. No cape or teeth, but the aforementioned fake blood colours his chin, and you hope the way you've restyled his hair into something less immaculate and more ruggedly antiquated really sells the look.

"Your costumes are great, too," Naomi tries, and you don’t need to be a detective to see that she’s struggling. You can’t help but laugh, giving her permission to laugh too. She lays a hand on your arm, “Come on through, everyone’s out back.”

The majesty of the house only grows more apparent as you follow them deeper inside. A large entrance hall with a wooden switchback staircase, and high walls decorated with a few family photos; a living room that runs the length of the house, perfect for entertaining, with plush sofas and a large dining table piled high with food and drink. The back wall has been traded out for a set of glass doors, that are currently pulled back to let the night in. The party spills outside, with most people lingering around the entrance to make the most of the heat, but a decent number are laughing and joking in the garden, warmed by a burning firepit set up a few metres from the house.

It’s a sizable crowd, enough to get lost in, but as you move from colleague to colleague you can’t quite join in the fun. Instead you keep stealing glances at Connor. The costume was his idea, sure, but you might have encouraged it a little, and who can blame you?

His hand ghosts across your back, never quite leaving you as you continue your meet and greet. Conversations fly by without you even really paying attention to what you’re talking about, as you grow more and more aware of the way that Connor is looking at you, too. His LED flickers yellow, and you know he's checking your vitals, running a series of tests you probably wouldn't understand even if he told you - but the conclusion is the same: you're enjoying this.

It's like your first meeting all over again, knowing he can read every movement, every blush, every feeling, meanwhile you have to carry on trying to act normal, trying not to burn alive under his stare, until one of you can't handle the tension anymore.

“What?” You ask him, finally. You’ve found a quiet spot outdoors; the back garden stretches on beyond what you can see on such a dark night, and the top half of the lawn is only partially lit with the glow of the house and the weak golden nightlights that dot the grass. Plenty of shadows to tuck yourself away in for a bit of privacy; in the near-darkness, the faint flicker of the firepit sets shadows playing across Connor’s face, making it easier than ever to read mischief into his expression.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” He asks, voice low and a little droll. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” You undo your mask and shake your hair back, letting the cool air wash over your face. “Everyone else, maybe.”

“They know us.”

“Yes, but we probably shouldn't beat them over the head with it.” Despite your warning, you reach up to tug at the ruffled collar, liking the way your fingertips dip beneath to trace his skin, feeling the steady thrum of his biocomponents beneath. “I wonder if you’re getting into character. Still confused about the appeal?”

“It’s becoming clearer. Like you said, not everyone knows what it’s like to be a hunter.” He trails his fingers down your arm, just the lightest brush against the inside of your wrist.

“Hm, did you ever enjoy it? The chase?” You lean closer, but your question isn’t just to spur him on - you’re genuinely curious. “Hunting people down.”

He doesn’t answer at once, his fingers circling your wrist, thumb lightly tracing the veins below your hand. His eyes focus with laser precision on your lips, and then move slowly down to your neck. “At the time, I just wanted to finish my mission. But now-...”

A hushed, urgent voice at the top of the garden grabs your attention. It’s Fowler’s wife, warning everybody that the Captain’s pulling into the drive. You move away, ready to join the mass of bodies rushing for somewhere to hide, but Connor’s grip on your wrist tightens quite suddenly.

“After Fowler arrives, I'll give you thirty seconds,” Connor murmurs right in your ear, before stepping away, disappearing like a spectre into the crowd.

“You can’t be serious...” Your voice drifts through the night, addressed to no one in particular, although Connor’s ears are good - he probably heard you, and he can probably even hear the way your heart stutters and then picks up speed. The atmosphere feels electric as you move numbly to hide with some other partygoers, painfully aware that no one here understands the predicament you’ve found yourself in.

30 seconds. 30 seconds until what?

You swallow thickly, trying to slow your racing heart. It’s pattering away in your chest like a trapped bird, while you crouch completely still, ears straining for any sound from the Captain. You cast an eye around you. You’re still outside, just by the door, but you have a good view of most of the guests; apparently you aren’t the only one who noticed how easy it was to hide in the garden. You don’t see Connor anywhere.

Back in the house, the front door opens. Ruth greets her husband with faux-nonchalance.

30 seconds.

Did he mean 30 seconds from the moment Fowler steps into the house? Or the moment he reaches the party? 

Your knees are shaking. Would you be able to slink away? To reach the darker depths of the lower garden in time? Would he notice? Would anyone else?

Before you can make a decision, Fowler suddenly rounds the corner into the living room and, at the sight of the enormous buffet arranged on the table, halts in his tracks. Ruth comes creeping in behind him and lifts her arms.

With an enormous boom that sets your teeth on edge, the guests all jump up and yell: “Happy Birthday!”

30 seconds. You force yourself upwards and forwards, into the crowd.

\--

At first you don't know where you're going or what your plan is. The press of bodies around you is hindering rather than helping your ability to hide, and there's no way Connor would struggle to catch you here, unless...

What would he do if you stayed around other people? If you found a group to attach yourself to and just acted as normal? It wasn't like he could just drag you off, no questions asked. Right?

You aren't so sure. It's doubtful he'd be that dramatic, but you have a feeling he'd find a way to get you on your own - only then he'd have witnesses. 

You shiver. How long do you have left?

You could just leave. Sneak out the front door; he'll definitely catch up but it'll save your blushes if it's out in the street rather than in the Captain's home. Now there's an idea. Moving with more purpose, rather than just following the current of people waiting to greet Fowler, you slip past him and through to the entrance hall. There are enough people here that you aren't out in the open, but...

You see the back of Connor's shirt, just briefly, pass ahead. He's patrolling near the door, already a step ahead of you, as usual - bastard. Quickly, you duck your head and backtrack, hoping he hasn't seen you. Has it been 30 seconds? You've lost track. 

You aren't actually afraid of Connor finding you, obviously, but there is something to say about maintaining your pride. If he finds you immediately, you'll never hear the end of it. Your chest bubbles with excitement as you slip into a side room, which turns out to be the kitchen, but then you hesitate. The only other door leads back to the living room, otherwise it's back the way you came into the entrance hall. Either option has its risks: if he'd seen you he could try to cut you off, or maybe he's right on your trail, about to walk in behind you. A rush of adrenaline sends you lurching forwards into the living room. 

You can't be sure, but you think you see a flash of white out of the corner of your eye, coming through the door into the kitchen behind you as you leave - maybe nothing, maybe the ruffled sleeve of a dress shirt dappled with fake blood. Your skin crawls, the back of your neck and scalp feeling hot as you hurry deeper into the crowd - expecting to feel a hand close on your shoulder at any moment.

It's definitely over 30 seconds now, and Connor is hunting.

But nothing comes: no heated touch or voice at your ear. You escape into the crowd, making your way back around to the entrance hall. If you can just make it back to the door before he reaches you, no doubt he'll be expecting it but there's always a chance...

"Doctor!" Fowler's gruff voice stops you in your tracks. He blocks your path, tone conspiratorial, expression as glum as ever. "What do you think my chances are of getting my wife and daughter locked away in a mental institution?"

"Slim," You say, forcing a normal tone. "But I could put a word in for the right price."

"Hm, how much?" 

A short laugh clears your throat but you can't help but shift distractedly; scanning the crowd, expecting to see a pair of brown eyes nail you to the spot. 

"You're missing a mask," Fowler's blunt quip brings you back to Earth. "Unless 'French' is a costume."

"Oh..." You hadn't realized you'd never put it back on, but it gave you an excellent idea. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

He shrugs, "Upstairs, end of the hall."

"Thanks, and Happy Birthday!"

You catch his grimace before moving past him, towards the staircase. The crowd in the hall has thinned, and there seems like an awful lot of space between you and the door. The stairs might be the safer option after all, and although hiding in the bathroom isn't necessarily good form, Connor hasn't exactly set any rules for his game.

You're barely halfway up the stairs when a familiar voice almost makes you trip. Below, Connor is standing exactly where you'd just been, talking to the Captain. His eyes are locked on you, a quietly smug expression on his face as he chats easily with Fowler. The look in his eyes pins you to the spot, and you realize what those deviant androids must've felt when he was coming after them. There's something predatory, single-minded, devoid of empathy in his look; like the eyes of a cat zeroing in on a mouse. Connor excuses himself from Fowler at the same moment you regain your senses and continue up the stairs, trying to strike a good balance between hurrying and not making it obvious that you're hurrying. The only thing worse than Connor catching up to you is having to explain to someone why you're running from him in the first place.

Out of sight of the people below, once your feet hit the landing you quicken your pace. Fowler said the bathroom's at the end of the landing. Oh, there's no way you're going to reach that. Panic fills your veins with ice water, which only serves to slow you down. Doors line the way on the right - maybe you can dive into one of those? Hide yourself away and hope he doesn't check?

You go to try the door closest to you when the bathroom door suddenly opens and a man comes stumbling out.

Urgh. Gavin.

...

Gavin!

Thanking your lucky stars you continue towards him quickly, "Great timing!"

He gives you a distrustful look, clearly still sore about your offensive decision to date Connor. Passing him quickly, you pause before entering the bathroom. As expected, Connor's following, but at the sight of Gavin he slows. You shoot him an equally smug look before closing the door. 

No way can he wait upstairs or try to follow you, not without raising Gavin's ire and suspicion. You can trust Gavin to suspect the worst: whether that's Connor snooping around upstairs or a more sordid affair that includes you, it doesn't matter much. The risk's enough to keep the android at bay. 

Locking the door for safe measure, you stand back. What now?

You pause to deliberate. It's a big room, but it's still a bathroom: not quite big enough to hide in. There's an open window that looks promising, but that seems dramatic considering the circumstances. The only option is to wait until the coast is clear and then make another break for the exit. 

You press your ear against the door, just in case there's some sign of life out there. Gavin's incoherent swearing, perhaps, or Connor's smooth voice convincing somebody to give him the keys to the bathroom. You listen hard, but there's nothing. Silence.

Is that good? You hope so. You certainly can't stay here forever.

Carefully, you unlock the door, your ears straining, your fingers ready to slam it back into place if you hear him. Nothing. You edge the door open, bit by bit, until you can see all the way down the hallway. Empty.

Breathing out, you open the door the rest of the way.

An arm around your waist makes you gasp. It tugs you backwards, catching you off balance, your hands falling from the door which is shoved closed. 

The arm releases you, and you turn around to see Connor standing there, looking extremely pleased with himself. 

"How-..." You begin, then see the open window. "Connor, that's not fair. Did anyone see you?"

"No one knows I'm here," He says, his tone sending a prickle of heat through you. "That was smart, using Gavin to slow me down."

"That's me," You back against the door, hands behind you. He hadn't locked it, there's a chance you can just...

"Just give yourself up, it'll be easier for the both of us," Connor says, as if he can read your mind. His tone isn't very personal, it's as if he's slipped back into his previous state: negotiator, deviant hunter. That is, if not for the low smoky lilt in his voice, and the way his eyes burn holes in yours.

"Why would I want to make it easier for you?" You ask, your hand finally finding the latch. "Besides, people will start to wonder where I am."

"It wouldn't take that long," Connor steps forward. With the red smear of blood on his chin he looks positively monstrous. You feel your throat bob. 

You decide to call his bluff. Surely he wouldn't try anything here, at the home of the man who could end both of your careers. Your hand closes on the door handle and the sound of it opening punctuates the silence, louder than you were expecting.

Connor moves forward so quickly you flinch backwards, your weight closing the door again. You've never seen him move like that, it's a part of him you've only seen at a distance. The side he shows at work, in pursuit, in interrogations: the hunter.

His hands bracket the door, fingers extended to take his weight, trapping you between them. He towers over you, head dipping close; eyes not on yours, but on the curve of your neck. 

Your hands jerk up to grab his collar when you feel his lips trace a line from your shoulder up to your jaw. He pauses to kiss the shell of your ear, teeth suddenly catching and tugging the lobe, just hard enough to make you stiffen up. The pressure of your hands against his chest does nothing to slow him down, or even faze him at all. The tip of his nose trails across your skin, cool against the growing heat, before he presses a soft kiss to the spot right about your fluttering pulse. He pulls away, but before he does he gives your skin a tentative lick, as if he can't quite help himself.

When his face comes back around to meet yours, his LED is spinning amber: processing. You do your best not to react. "You're right, that was quick."

The flickering stops but his LED stays yellow, and the smile that tugs at his lips does nothing to weaken the intensity of his stare: "I'm trying to give you a chance to escape."

He reaches down, taking liberties on the way as he drags his fingers down your side, before his hand lands on the door handle. His other arm snakes around your waist, pulling you suddenly flush against him as he opens the door. 

With his lips against your ear, he adds his terms: "If you leave now, and don't draw too much attention, we can keep this between us."

He lets you go, but you aren't quite ready to do the same. You lean forwards, using his solid, immovable form to your advantage as you pull yourself against him and slide your hand down to rub, open-palmed and firm, between his legs. You lay your own mouth against his ear, your teeth worrying the soft, synthetic flesh: "I'm counting on it."

The quiet groan that leaves Connor's throat goes straight to your core. It's difficult to pull yourself away but you do, turning towards the door and taking the chance to get away. It's tempting to take a deep breath, as if the atmosphere of the bathroom had been literally suffocating, but you hold it in just in case someone's waiting outside. 

That possibility suddenly gives you pause. You can't be seen walking out of the bathroom with him... But when you turn around, the bathroom is empty. 

The window. Of course. 

Meanwhile, you'd have to take the long way.

\--

You make it out onto the street without any trouble, excusing yourself with quick, polite goodbyes and some lame excuse about feeling unwell. Away from the house, the cold suddenly hits you. You hadn't exactly dressed for the elements, not expecting to spend much time outdoors; let alone outdoors, arms wrapped around yourself, stepping quickly down an unfamiliar street. You haven't seen Connor, but you don't doubt he's there somewhere - watching you. The hurried, anxious movements on your part are mostly for his benefit. He's enjoying this. Who'd have thought? Androids like roleplay.

You're glad for the flat shoes you're wearing, it certainly makes things easier when you suddenly spot Connor following you and you have to break into a run. You're no couch potato but you haven't sprinted anywhere since grade school; all that's motivating you is lurid excitement, that keeps bubbling out of you in short gasps. At the end of the street you cut left, slightly surprised that he hasn't caught you yet. Obviously he's letting you go, giving you some false hope of escape. It's such a nice, quiet, suburban street you're a little worried about curtain-twitchers calling the cops; it would be a little embarrassing for the house party to end because everyone in attendance gets called to find out why a young woman's running away from an android, who happens to be covered in blood, in the middle of the night. You slow down and stop behind a tree, partly to hide, mostly to catch your breath. 

"I can hear your heart from here," Connor's voice cuts through the night like a knife. "You can't hide from me."

A sudden bright light makes you jump, and for a second you wonder if some neighbor actually has come out to save you. But, alas, there are no do-gooders out tonight. Instead it's a taxi, which pulls up right beside you. The beam of the headlights thrusts your shadow across the road, erasing any doubt about where you're hiding. Connor emerges out of the darkness, stalking towards you at an easy, patient pace.

"Get in." His voice is low, authoritative.

"Right..." Your voice, unlike his, is still recovering from your short burst of cardio. "So you can get me somewhere private? I don't think so."

"You don't want to make this difficult, not with me."

"What if I scream?"

"I'm counting on it."

You let out a shaky breath, barely covering the smile that wants to break out over your face. As if on cue, the taxi door slides open.


	2. Oral Fixation

When you slide into the taxi, you're not quite sure what's going to come next. The windows are tinted, it's a private service, would he even be able to wait until you reach the apartment? Connor takes the seat opposite you and you hold your breath... but he closes his eyes, his LED flickering yellow.

"Coward." You point your toe to reach his leg and stroke a slow line up and down his calf. 

It breaks his concentration, the LED turning blue for a moment, but his eyes remain closed as he purrs: "I'm just thinking about what I'm going to do to you."

He settles back into what he was doing, LED yellow and thrumming with whatever erotica he has stored away. He looks very calm, his posture is perfect, hands folded neatly in his lap; from the outside he looks like he could be running a report or resting in stasis. Anything but the truth. Despite the costume, he looks every bit the android you'd first met like this.

He keeps it up the entire ride home, while you're sat there, cross-legged and apprehensive, staring out at the city streets. You pass the cinema on your way and see the vampire movie posters that now only seem to exist to mock you: "Ever wondered how you taste?"

When the car pulls up outside the apartment, Connor wakes at once, slipping quickly out and then offering you his hand. When you take it, you expect a firm grip - but his fingers on yours are as light as a feather; as if he has every confidence that even if you tried to slip away, he'd simply catch you again. Your heart races as you make your way to the apartment in silence.

Once on your floor, he slows to let you walk ahead, and you feel like a prisoner making your way to the gallows. The skin on the back of your neck prickles and you avoid the urge to look back. When you go to unlock the front door, you notice your hands are shaking, but you manage to get it open quickly. And then you're inside. Behind you, the door closes and you know you're alone with him. Your breathing sounds loud and harsh in the empty silence of the dark apartment, meanwhile Connor is absolutely soundless. 

You still can't turn around. You know he's standing right behind you. Even so, the sudden sensation of him against your back, his fingers trailing up your arms, his nose in your hair, makes you shudder. He inhales deeply, arms coming around your front to tighten around your middle, trapping your arms by your sides. He leans forwards, forcing you to bend slightly at the waist as he presses himself flush against you, his hands perfectly situated to push your hips back against his. He's already hard.

His nose is still in your hair, and the sound of his muffled voice makes you shiver: "I like the way you smell."

His face moves down, his mouth trailing across your neck. You want to cringe away from the touch on such sensitive skin, but his hand suddenly shoots up and tangles in your hair, firm but not tight, pulling your head back to expose the curve of your neck to him. The words are left unsaid: I like the way you taste.

He trails soft kisses in the same pattern he'd taken before, in Fowler's bathroom. Only this time you can feel his lips, tongue and teeth exploring your skin. Just the barest slide of his teeth against your skin makes you gasp, the faintest press of the edges of his canines, followed by the soft, wet swipe of his tongue. You're glad he's holding you so close because you're not sure if your knees can take your weight. As if he can read your thoughts, he suddenly releases you. You don't fall, thankfully, but your movements are clumsy as you turn to face him. 

He's so close you can feel the ghost of his lips against yours, but neither of you allow the other to touch. It's like a dare, how close you can get without giving in. You step backwards, blindly leading the way to the bedroom without breaking eye contact with him. In the darkness his LED shines bright and yellow as he follows, stalking towards you until the backs of your legs hit the bed. Connor stops when you do, watching from the end of the bed as you sit back and edge your way up the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours as he scans you - if only to see exactly what effect he's having on you.

Clearly, he likes what he sees.

Connor prowls forwards, hands finding your ankles and pulling you down beneath him. He looks up at you, eyebrow quirked, his eyes dark and serious: "Do you want to wear these again?"

You can only shake your head. His long fingers unhook the button of your pants and with a rough tug he rips them off of you. Just the hint of the kind of strength he has makes it difficult to breathe, but he's already moving again, crawling upwards to dispense of your shirt. He's careful to rip your clothes in such a way that you only feel the barest tug, not like some other men whose efforts just end up being painful and uncomfortable. Free of your clothes you arch your back to let him unhook your bra with a little more care, your fingers coming up to bury themselves in his hair as you press your lips to his. He indulges you for a moment, opening his mouth just enough for you to edge your tongue in, before he pushes you back against the mattress. One hand throws your bra away, the other slides up to cover your eyes, his thumb angled down to brush against your lips. He tips your head back, allowing himself access to your chest and throat, where he presses hot kisses until you're gasping for air, at which point he takes the opportunity to hook his thumb into your mouth. His skin is tasteless, smooth and soft and bereft of fingertips. To you it's like tasting plastic, but you accept him into your mouth anyway, knowing how sensitive he is, and how each lick, suck and bite will radiate through him. Besides, you kind of fucking love the filth of it.

Maybe Connor is more vampire than you'd first thought. Not in the biting, perhaps, but he seems to have a certain oral fixation. 

He drags his head down your torso, the tickle of his hair featherlight and soothing in contrast to the concentrated ministrations of his tongue and lips and teeth against your bare skin. You don't have to see to know that his LED is spinning yellow, processing every bit of data he can as his tongue works over your stomach, hips, and down your thighs. His hand leaves your eyes and moves to join the other at your legs as he sits back on his heels and presses heated kisses against your inner knees and ankles, his fingers massaging the soft flesh of your calves as he stares down at you through half-closed eyes. Letting your legs fall, he finally leans forwards and captures your lips in a proper kiss.

You can taste the acrid tang of the fake blood on his chin as he assaults you with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. Your lips grow soft and pliant against the onslaught, and every inch you give he takes and asks for more; teasing your lips open wider, delving his tongue in further, swallowing every gasp and moan before it can leave your mouth. When he's done your lips feel swollen and you're struggling for air. He looks down at you, at his handiwork, and you can see that while his kisses have already started to drain you of your energy, he is only growing more excited. More hungry.

He nudges your legs further open with his knees and slots himself between them, and the sudden pressure of his clothed erection against the wet heat between your legs makes you grab hold of his shoulders. If it wasn't already obvious, it certainly is now: he's extremely into this. He lowers his face again, this time to the edge of your jaw, just beneath your ear. The dual assault on two of your most sensitive areas has you wriggling beneath him, but he takes hold of your wrists and pulls your arms up by your head in a grip like iron, holding you in place as he gently rocks his hips against yours and sucks and licks at your neck and ear.

"Connor..." You breathe, twisting your wrists uselessly against his hands. The friction of him rubbing against you feels good, but it's not enough. "Please."

You hear him groan directly into your ear at the sound of your plea, his hips grinding more harshly into yours, the silken rub of his dress pants right on your core making you arch your back. With one hand still restraining one of your wrists, the other moves down your side, and up to the crook of your knee, pulling it up against his side so he can angle himself in such a way that his breathing quickly turns rough and ragged as he continues to rock against you. You listen to him as he becomes more vocal against your neck, his thrusting becoming more erratic and furious, as he gets carried away with himself. He shoves his hand between you and you hear the tearing of material as he rushes to release his cock. You tense, expecting to feel him finally fill you like you want, but instead the hard length slides against your folds as he fucks himself against you. His grip on you is immovable, his weight almost suffocating, but in his distracted state you manage to wriggle your hips just enough so he rubs directly over your clit. The contact makes you keen, and the sound makes Connor shudder.

"Stop..." Connor hisses through gritted teeth. "I can't..."

His thrusting slows as he tries desperately to control himself, but you wrap your legs tighter around him, and moan directly in his ear, repeating his name the way you know he likes. His whole body shudders and the next thing you feel is his tip press against your entrance. Your back stretches, your head falling back as he pushes inside, and he gasps at the feeling of you tightening around him. He picks up the pace at once, giving into his needs and using your body to chase his own pleasure. With his mouth pressed firmly against your throat, right above your pulse, you know he's overwhelmed with data - your vitals, the physiological changes you're going through, and his own sensors exploding as he reaches orgasm.

His body trembles and he freezes in place above you. You can't help but let out a quiet laugh, turning your face so you can kiss his ear, his bright red LED, his temple and cheekbone. 

He lets out a breath, and you get the impression he's rebooting, his body returning to life - like his pleasure had been so intense it had, literally, shorted his circuits. You're about to make some witty remark when he runs his fingertips lightly down the back of your thigh, the sensation making you want to writhe away from him, your hips trying to lift from the bed, but he's faster. Gripping your hips securely with both hands this time, he presses you back against the mattress. He lifts his head to give you a dark look that makes all humour evaporate from your brain, and then he lowers his head down your body, until he's between your thighs.

Your spine twists and you push yourself up onto your elbows, but there's no shifting your hips out of Connor's grip. He barely seems to notice you're watching him; he's now completely unhurried and completely absorbed with the task at hand, moving at his own pace as he dips his face between your legs. The moment he makes contact, you drop back against the pillows, feeling his lips curve into a smile against you, and then his tongue - that dexterous fucking tongue - licks a firm line from your centre to your clit. 

Immediately your hands jerk downwards, desperate to touch him - to feel like you have some kind of control - but afraid at even the possibility you might disrupt him. Instead your hands alternate between gripping the sheets and digging into your own skin as he slowly, slowly, pulls you apart.

His tongue is unbearable, at once soft and flat, spreading wet heat across your folds and blanketing your clit, then suddenly firm and probing, wriggling deep within you while the tip of his nose presses tantalising against the bundle of nerves that's still crying out for friction. Your muscles tense and close against a phantom pressure, desperate to hurry along your release, and you begin to whine and murmur his name. He hums, the vibration white-hot against your understimulated core, his grip on you tightening.

He drags his tongue up out of you and takes your clit into his mouth, his tongue soft, massaging at first and then growing firmer. You can't stop yourself from touching him now, your fingers gripping his hair and your hips shaking, trying to buck him off but only succeeding in pressing yourself more firmly against his tongue. He hums and groans, releasing the pressure to open his mouth wide and lap at as much of you as he can. But then he returns to your clit with renewed vigour - up-and-down, side-to-side, so excruciating it makes your toes curl - and all of his skill and knowledge and energy is directed at that one point, his tongue insistent, frantic even, as he finally quits the teasing and forces you over the edge.

You cry out, almost sobbing, your limbs shaking and your body turning limp and boneless as your orgasm rushes through you, stealing all of your energy and directing it to your rutting hips. Connor carries you through it, fully in control, fully committed to making your pleasure last until it turns painful, and then he softly lays you down, pressing soothing kisses to your quivering body.

The next thing you feel is him sliding his hands under your back, rubbing circles into the knots in your muscles as he pulls himself up to lie with you..

"We should definitely see more movies," You manage, when you feel like you can breathe again. Connor presses a soft kiss to the spot directly over your heart, and lays his head down on your sternum. He hums his approval. That's something new - normally you're the one left legless and exhausted, completely spent and unable to form coherent thought, but this time that honour goes to Connor - the big, scary deviant hunter.

You wrap your arms around him and smooth his hair back from his face, your legs tangled with his as he lies comfortably on top of you - his weight solid and reassuring. As he holds you close, with your still-trembling, hot body wrapped around him, he thinks he finally, truly, understands the appeal of monster stories. 

As a monster himself, there seems nothing sweeter than this.


End file.
